Anthology of the Fated
by Kiss of fire
Summary: This is a collection of stories that I have written about many characters that I have made and come to know. They will all be one shots and will never directly connect, but might use the same characters now and again. For now this is rated T but future explicit content might change that rating. Please enjoy and criticize, I am completely open to it.
1. Tale of Grief: Breaking

Hello once again everyone, I have returned after a long time. My time in the shadows has kept me away from doing what I love and I think depression has been getting the better of me lately. However, I am recovering slowly but surely. And it begins with a new chapter in my writing. I have no idea if I will continue my other stories, but I've been piecing the next chapter of BTF and have been thinking about reissuing Hematite, a complete rework. For now enjoy this: A collection of short stories based on characters I've created over the past two years. I'll try to post a new chapter frequently, but I cannot promise this. As the description says, these will be one-shots of different characters. I will more than likely write multiple stories of the same character, and if you want me to write a standalone story just let me know. I might post these to my Fictionpress but seeing as how this account has more of you lovelies viewing it, I figured this would be the better place to make my return.

I apologize for my absence, please enjoy,

A Tale of Grief: Breaking.

Blood pooled around the tiefling's feet as he stood breathless, admiring his work. His poison had done its job well; the guard's muscles and face were twisted and contorted into expressions of the agony that came with the dissolving of muscle tissue. Still, he had put up a fair fight all things considered. The fire of a soldier is not one easily quenched, but it was eventually snuffed. That was everyone on his list: the merchant, the guard, the priest, those bastard children, and his miserable excuses for parents. None of them would be able to make fun of or hurt him again, and all it took was one week's effort.

As the tiefling began to sheathe his knife and smear the warm blood into words on the stone wall, something flickered behind him. It was a spark reflecting in the sanguine, a small light at first that grew. Pinkish in hue, it expanded from an amorphous dot into a humanoid form, then it dimmed. Standing proud and tall was a woman, of sorts at least. For he had never seen a woman with wings and small horns, nor has he seen such a beautiful and flawless woman clad in such…for lack of a better term, whorish garb. She did have a tall, like him, but it was a thin and delicate thing with a spade-like point on the end. He lips, hair, eyes, and devilish features all wore the same sanguine as beneath his shoes.

The woman's smile was the first mark of beauty that caught attention, but wandering eyes could not help but briefly gaze upon large, youthful breasts, narrow hips that widened into larger curves which gave foundation to powerful legs, and a poise so elegant and so provocative with her chest pushed out and hips drawn into a subtle shift at the side. But the eyes didn't wander for long and icy blue met those crimson pools that so beckoned in a comforting and mischievous way.

"My, how you've grown," the voice was silky and disarming, and brought a sense of calm to the tiefling, "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Who..who are you," he said snapping back into reality, "I've never met you before."

The woman walked towards him, swinging her hips and playing with her long hair idly. She chuckled for but a moment as she walked around him, adding to the sound of heels on cobblestone.

"Oh, we've met. You just don't remember. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you. Not _that_ at least."

"Why have you come here," the tiefling stood rigid and unmoving, his blood-soaked hand creeping towards his blade.

"I've been watching you for quite some time. Longer than you would think, in fact. Only you were rather dull until recently. Until you created that wonderful toxin. How was it, killing that priest? He was the first to go, wasn't he?"

"He was."

"Well, how was it? Your first time."

"Exhilarating. Frightening at first, but It was fun to see that bastard's life drain away." He shook his head and the grin that had begun to form washed away in an instant, "You still haven't answered me. Who are you?"

"Someone who holds you close at heart. Someone who rejected you a long time ago until you became…useful."

"In what way?"

"In many ways, my dear. With the proper training, you'll become irresistible to me?"

"Training? For what? Are you wanting me to kill someone?"

The woman suddenly stopped, now behind the tiefling, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Cold lips pressed against his neck and immediately he was filled with a sort of frigid comfort. At first, he naturally resisted, but something was enjoyable about it. Something made him relax and smile. He could feel things stirring inside him, things more mysterious, but similar to the euphoria he had gotten from his murder. Delicate fingers danced through his hair and ran across his think horns. Her body pressed against his, leg wrapping around leg and chest pressing against back. Then, she slinked back and he turned around, still in the lingering effects of her touch.

"What was that?"

"Like I said, training. I want you to have similar powers so we can do each other some favors. You'll be rewarded handsomely, I promise."

"That sounds all nice but…I don't exactly know where to go from here. I have no family, no home, no direction."

"My dear, you still have one of those things, and you can certainly have all three if you join me. Give you mother a hug."

"Mother," the tiefling stumbled back in shock, "No, no my mother is dead. I killed her, just last night. Stuck a blade in her throat and listened to her choking."

"Oh, so you haven't figured it out, pity. Well then, you obviously can't be the true son of those cruel devils, now can you? I mean look at yourself! They were both human and, well, you're something else entirely. Something better."

"You mean to say…"

"Yes, dear. And I'm so sorry. I didn't want to give you up back then because I knew you would be useful. But your father was out of the picture and I wasn't exactly able to care for a child and go about my own work alone."

"My father," the tiefling now had his knife in hand and pointed at the woman, "What do you mean out of the picture?"

"Oh, he died when you were conceived, the poor sod. He'd given up on life and I gifted him with a wondrous night of passion and the sweet kiss of death. Turns out he had given me a sort of parting gift as well…you."

His mind raced rapidly. What was this woman saying? That she killed his true father and abandoned them? Could he have lived a life that was at least more comfortable, less judgmental than the one he had experienced? He didn't know, and he couldn't piece anything together. His fragile mind was already unstable from the shock of murder and the ever-picking question of "what now," this was just something inconceivable. Abandoned, abused, tortured, deceived, how could she? How could she? How could she?!

"AAARRRGHGH," this was the only thing he could let out as he lunged forward with the knife. It missed when she stepped to the side and sparked across the wall behind her.

"Now now, I know this is quite a lot, but I am offering a lot. You should at least be a little grateful."

"Shut up you bitch! I'll rip you apart!"

Again he swung at her, and sliced nothing but air. The poison that filled the scabbard had freshly coated the blade, and dripped off here and there as he swung. Already it was burning the stone and sizzling where it reached the pool of blood. Again. Again. Again. He had to kill her, he had to. She would die, she would. So many had fallen to him and so would she. She had to. She had to. She had to.

"That's enough of that," she said after the eleventh swing. She put her hand up and the tiefling flew back when the psychic wave hit him hard.

His head throbbed. What was that? He could feel his mind fracturing farther and farther still. What was he doing? The knife…the knife was still in his hands.

"Oh, you poor dear. I'm sorry to leave you like this but I guess you're still not ready. Oh well, I'll check on you another day but until then, have fun on this world. Make some art."

Yes, yes some art. The woman faded out of view as a dull pink light briefly surrounded her and her entire form shrunk into a mere speck, then nothing. Art. Beauty. Love. He was an artist, that's what he was. Art made people feel things. All kinds of things. Something that he felt his entire life. A virtue, yes a virtue. Something to gift the world with each new corpse, each new scarlet-stained canvas. Grief, that was it. And sorrow but mostly grief. This was his purpose, his direction, his name. It would be done, he would bring it. Grief.


	2. Tale of Victor: First Steps

Tale of Victor: First Steps Towards Progress

 _I arrive in a small village known as Clearwater. Upon investigation, I learned that Clearwater is a town that focuses on agricultural production, with most of its yields being invested back into the village itself. It returns no profit to Steelehold in any military, industrial, or scholarly means yet it follows under my kingdom's grasp. Law enforcement here is lax at best, with no kingdom guards being spotted anywhere and the local militia being a small force of about half a dozen. As far as governmental standards are set, there practically are none. As far as I can tell the only person with any sort of sway, locally at least, is a man that goes by the name of Jorik Munce. Munce is a man of virtue and equality and oversees much of the town's day-to-day function while simultaneously acting as the resident Chief of Justice. Anyone who wants anything goes directly to him._

 _I can tell why this village never came up in the discussion among the halls of Steelehold: it's miniscule. The population lies under three hundred meaning that any taxes generated would be negligible. There are no goods of merit to be seen, at least not enough to warrant any deals with the capital city or even any of the outlying holds in my kingdom. Well, what used to be my kingdom at least. The people here don't recognize my face, which goes to show how localized it must be. News does not seem to travel through here and it's independent enough that the events of the month haven't seemed to affect the village at all. In fact, I believe no one is even aware of them._

 _Currently I have found accommodation at an establishment known as "The Roost." The owner is one Joseph Brewer. He's a gentle soul and when inquiring about his surname, he informed me that many families take on the name of their profession. As such, "families" tend to be large throngs of workers and tradesmen, with many apprentices being brought up by their masters in the same kinship as blood relatives. Brewer himself does not besmirch his name, as his ale is some of the best I've tasted outside of home. What I wouldn't give to have a glass of "Moonlight Rose," or to be by the stone hearth of "The Silver Feather" again. Still, I must make do with my current situation. Focusing on the wants of the past will do me no good in making progress towards my future. I will be able to eat well, bathe, and catch a full night's rest for the first time in weeks. If the nightmares decide against plaguing my mind tonight, that is._

 _Clearwater rests against the base of the Jotun's Maw range and channels water from the Bolma River. These natural defenses keep the town fenced on three sides, almost perfectly symmetrically. As such, the only fortifications needed are small wooden fences running just over the length of the fields. The town itself is separated from the mountains by a lush forest, the edges of which still show the signs of cutting. There is a small stretch of land here, meaning a walk to the mountain base from the well at the village center would take the better part of a half hour, if walking at a brisk pace. I've been to the mountains a few times in the week that I've been here, taking particular interest in the ruins that lay directly across from the town._

 _While I have extensively examined the façade of the ruins, a brief inquisition of the locals has revealed the presence of a terrible, one-eyed beast that makes home to the crumbling halls. While this is more than likely local superstition, I find it best to not try such a theory without taking the proper precautions. Besides, I doubt I would find anything of true use. My research tells me that the ruins belonged to nothing more than a failed clan of dwarves and humans, who might have been trying to build a military base._

 _I may be overstaying my welcome in this town. While it seems no one has recognized who I truly am, some have realized what I truly am. My ears, cheekbones, and other features parted onto me by my mother have stirred up a slight concern in some of the more bigoted residents. A man by the name of Edgar Carver, a woodworker who I believe was spawned during the breaking as he is positively ancient, has riled up about half a dozen other shambling elderly men and women who wish for nothing more than to chase me out of town._

 _Though of course, this little rabble has been met with more apathy than support. The people of Clearwater are a very accepting clan (I have seen a few tieflings that own their shops and even half orcs that work in the fields as famers and not slaves) but as I am the only half elf among them, they are at a loss with how to proceed. If the stance on my heritage is anything like it was for more than half the people in my own city, then I could be in a serious conundrum. All manner of humanoids exists peacefully, except for elves of any degree of blood. It would appear I must simply wait to see how things progress._

 _Edgar's rabble had grown, much to my dismay. Nearly two dozen people have taken my presence to Jorik in a rather unfriendly manner. Much to my dismay, Munce is rather inclined to exile me from Clearwater. I suspect this is merely a political move, as he personally does not seem offended with my being in his city. He has asked me to leave as soon as I can but has been gracious enough to offer me support in finding the nearest settlement; this support I have turned down. No place is truly safe for me, it would seem, but at least Clearwater is isolated._

 _Even still, I can only imagine that some of Thorne's forces will be poking around even in this part of the kingdom looking for me. If he hasn't already used his vile magic to discern my location then I would think he either does not have the power to do so or is satisfied with thinking I've died by the elements or perhaps by my own hand, driven by my despair. Though I can say for certain that I will disappoint him. As long as he lives, I have a reason to keep moving forward. I have the drive for progress, which hopefully reaches the end result of a bullet in his skull. On that subject, I have found that the mountains are actually a viable source of both iron and the various materials needed to refine black powder._

 _I came to this conclusion when I found a discarded, partially rotted barrel and a few crates near the ruins. The barrel was half full of partially refined powder, it was just missing was a bit of sulfur to give the otherwise relatively inert substance the kick it needs. The crates, on the other hand had been pried open, with the nails discarded nearby. I've been told that these crates were found long ago and contained iron ingots of a superb quality. These ingots had been shaped into the tools for some of the more respected workers of the town, and have lasted generations without the need for sharpening or treatment of rust. Rather curious; I wonder what such metal could be capable when refined into steel._

 _Last night was a close call. A platoon of Thorne's soldiers came into the town looking for a "fugitive." Of course Edgar was ready to rat me out, as were his compatriots. Luckily, I found refuge with a family of a mother and son tiefling, as well as her human husband and their newborn. Apparently, the husband had stashed the mother and son away in the same hidden room in the basement under a jeweler's shop that they stashed me away in too. The mother and son had themselves run away from racial prejudice, and needed a safe place while being hunted. That was five years ago, when the son was just barely beginning to walk. The human, a man named Leif, kept the tiefling Torva safe, and eventually the two fell in love._

 _While it is a tender story, I don't have the time, nor the ink, to spare in order to go into more detail. They were a lovely couple to speak with, and kept me hidden well enough until the soldiers left. I've asked around and, surprise, Edgar and a few of his cronies tried to expose me, but had no idea where I had been kept hidden. Some of the other tolerant citizens spoke against the group, calling them senile. Even Jorik played a role, being just vague and apathetic enough to throw off the guards without taking any proper side, a true politician that one. In any case, I am safe for the time being from Thorne, but I am unsure how to proceed against Edgar._

 _It has been three days since that fearful night, nearly three weeks since I came to this down initially. I've been helping out with what odd jobs I can, failing miserable at nearly every trade. My mother taught me how to write complex poetry, play musical instruments, and use my diplomatic skills effectively. From my father, I learned the arts of combat, through the elegant style of the rapier (Which my mother also played a significant part in) to the newly developed use of firearms, the skills of leadership, and a small amount of engineering (which was mostly me being taught by the Gnomish engineers of the castle). Going to university taught me to read scientific theory, exercise philosophy and memorize history, and ultimately led to my own theory on more practical, efficient gun designs. Never, have I ever, had to practice a real trade of any kind._

 _The only semblance of trade I know is engineering, though why there isn't demand for such a new and advanced concept in this small agricultural community, I can't imagine. The only other skill useful here that I'm not atrocious at is the culinary arts, but there are no ingredients for the dishes I am especially skilled at making and the inn has no need for another chef anyway. Tomorrow I shall try my hand at blacksmithing, perhaps that shall be my calling. In the meantime, I've had to rely on the generosity of those around me to keep me fed and well rested. How utterly humiliating._

 _It's not that I mind living with common folk, I often regarded the working class as some of the most important parts of a kingdom's prosperity. It's simply that I feel utterly useless, like one of the other nobles who leaches off their family's coin without any real contribution. My lack of work is giving Edgar leverage on why I should be exiled, with more and more people taking his side. If I can't find some kind of work, It's only a matter of time before I'm outside civilization again._

 _It appears that my inkwell has nearly reached its end and my pen is struggling to mark these words with enough clarity to make them comprehensible. It's just as well, as this may be my last entry. For whatever reason, the "beast" in the caverns has awoken. Strange burn marks are found in various places around the city after each night. I have no doubt that these marks are nothing more than the tricks of Edgar and his coalition, but superstition is taking its hold and a few have blamed me for the "awakening." I cannot discredit these claims without proper proof, as trying to question the validity of this theory without it would put me in a bad light, as If I didn't care about the cities customs and the people's beliefs._

 _I have but one choice. A few of the more skilled "combatants" armed with pitchforks, leather sheers, and anvil hammers have agreed to escort me into the ruins so that I might kill the beast, prove my worth, and stay in Clearwater. If the beast is there, I can only hope I have the ability to kill it. I've never been in a true fight, and neither has anyone else by my side. We're likely to die with whatever beast is in that cavern if it exists, but I have few other options._

 _I may do something I regret._


End file.
